


Five More Nights

by MelissaTreglia



Category: Five Nights at Freddy's, Real Person Fiction, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Five Nights at Freddy's: Sister Location, Gen, Male Friendship, Markiplier - Freeform, NateWantsToBattle - Freeform, Parolee Markiplier, Post-FNAF the Musical, Robot/Human Relationships, YouTube
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-16
Updated: 2017-11-27
Packaged: 2018-12-03 01:15:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11521473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelissaTreglia/pseuds/MelissaTreglia
Summary: Ten years after the events ofFNAF the Musical, Mark is finally up for parole. Meanwhile, Nate goes missing, and the Fuzzy Four seek Mark’s help to find him. Now Mark must survive five nights at Freddy’s sister location to find out what really happened while he was serving time.





	1. Prologue: The Night Before

**Author's Note:**

> This is my attempt at a sequel to _FNAF the Musical_ , which had been produced by Random Encounters and starred Markiplier and NateWantsToBattle. 
> 
> I loved the musical for what it was, but also had questions about the ending. Like... did FNAF!Mark ever get in trouble (he _was_ wanted for attempted murder, after all)? Did Nate take the job at the sister location? What about Phone Guy's vow of revenge?
> 
> Obviously, I couldn't just let it go, and so was inspired to write a fanfic sequel. This is my first attempt at a serious RPF of public personalities I genuinely enjoy (my previous attempts years ago were jokey little things about a performer I... didn't really care for). I love Markimoo, so all of this is out of fannish appreciation.
> 
> **TL, DR:** In the words of Freddy Fazbear, _please don't kill me!!!_ In all seriousness, I hope you enjoy this piece. New chapters will be uploaded whenever I can.

_California State Prison  
Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation  
Lancaster, Los Angeles County, California_

Mark waited, hands in his lap, as he sat in the hard folding chair. In spite of himself, he found himself jiggling one leg impatiently. This caused the leg restraints to rattle softly. At the glare he received, he immediately stilled and swallowed back the snide comment that wanted to fly out. A snarky attitude would do him no favours right now.

He watched as the board members flipped through papers, and silently tried to gauge what they were thinking. Of course, he knew what they saw; a trussed-up inmate in prison-issue garb waiting for their decision on whether his incarceration for first-degree attempted murder should continue.

If they bothered to look more closely, they might see the lines of exhaustion on his face and the genuine regret for his crime. He hadn’t killed anyone… but he’d gotten way too close to it that night. An innocent man had spent weeks recovering in the hospital because, thankfully, Mark had missed the vital organs by sheer dumb luck when he’d pulled the trigger.

It wasn’t like he **wanted** to hurt anyone, really… but it was hard to argue anything other than intent to harm when he had gone to the office that night armed to the teeth with multiple forms of weaponry, including the assault-grade rifle that he’d fired that night.

“Mr. Fischbach, according to your records here, your time in this corrections facility has been very quiet… with the notable exception of the events of two weeks ago. Would you care to explain?”

Mark sighed and, after a quiet moment where he gathered his thoughts, he finally said, “I don’t want to sound like I’m making excuses here, but I didn’t start that fight. I was cornered and I pushed him… not to hurt him, but so I could get away. He didn’t take too kindly to that, so I had to defend myself somehow.”

A long, pregnant silence.

“So, I punched him. Then I spent a week in solitary for fighting.” _Which was loads of fun_ , he thought sarcastically, but fortunately didn’t say. _Just me, alone in the dark, with lots of time for thinky thoughts._

The board member who’d questioned him nodded. “That is consistent with the guards’ reports.” She then laced her fingers together and, after another board member leaned in and whispered something in her ear, regarded Mark evenly. “It is the opinion of this parole board that any continuing threat you pose to society is negligible, and your eligibility for parole is hereby approved. You are to report to the parole office promptly at 9 am tomorrow morning, where an officer will be assigned to you.”

Mark exhaled the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Thank you.”

“You are welcome, Mr. Fischbach.” The brief smile on her face faded, and her expression became severe. “I do hope we never see you again.”

Another snarky comment was on the tip of his tongue, but he merely nodded instead. The only thing that really mattered is that he was going home. Finally. He’d be able to eat decent food, wear whatever clothes he felt like wearing, and sleep in a comfortable bed.

Just one more night, and he’d be done with this whole thing. Things were definitely looking up.


	2. Night 0

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had started this part immediately after I posted the prologue, hence why it's now available just two days later. I wrote fast, like a woman possessed by a writing demon. :P
> 
> Anyway, this is labeled Night 0 because Mark's not at the sister location yet. It's the part of the story where (were this a game) he'd find out his objective. It's also shorter in length than how I plan for the actual 5 nights (at the sister location) to be.
> 
> Steve Whitman, Mark's parole officer, is not a real person; he's a character of my own creation.
> 
> I'll shut up now and let you continue on. :)

_Night 0  
Mark’s House_

“You’re not done.”

“What?” Mark stared dumbly at his parole officer, feeling somewhere between irritated and confused. “But I thought we **finished** … I mean, there were the psych and medical evals, the interview process, the mountains of paperwork… God, it took all frickin’ **day**!”

“We’ve still got one thing,” Officer Whitman— _Steve_ , Mark mentally corrected himself—insisted. 

Mark groaned, and scrubbed a hand over his face tiredly. “Okay, hit me.”

Steve simply pulled a black box out of his backpack and, placing it on the coffee table, flipped it open.

Mark stared at the contents with a growing sense of dread. “Wow, jewelry,” was his sarcastic comment. “You shouldn’t have.”

Steve pulled the tracking device out of the box. “Which leg do you want it on?”

Mark sighed. “I guess the right is good enough.” He proceeded to roll up his pant leg, exposing his calf. “Let’s get it over with.”

Steve nodded, and strapped the tracker on just above Mark’s ankle, adjusting the fit so it was snug against Mark’s flesh. “Is it too tight?”

“Nah. It’s good.”

Steve nodded. “The tech’s water-proof, so you can take a shower without getting a nasty shock. The GPS has a wide range, so you can go anywhere within L.A. County, so long as it isn’t in violation of your parole terms… or the restraining order your victim has against you.”

Mark nodded. The restraining order had been placed earlier that day, by the janitor he’d accidentally shot. Not that he blamed the guy, honestly. But the order maintained that Mark couldn’t be within five hundred feet of him, his home or his place of work. All of which seemed fair, under the circumstances. And Mark had no interest in making the man’s life harder; he just wanted to live out his parole time nice and quietly.

“So, except for that, I can go anywhere I want whenever I want?” Mark asked.

“Pretty much,” Steve replied. “But don’t forget, you also have a curfew. You have to be home at 9 pm, or it’s a violation of your parole.”

“So not whenever I want.” Mark considered this for a moment. “What if something comes up where I can’t get home in time? Or what if I find a job where they need me for the night shift?”

“Allowances can be made for the purposes of gainful employment, and for family emergencies. Just call me and let me know what’s up, so I can get it on file.”

Mark’s sigh was relieved this time. “Good idea. I want to be a good boy and not get in any more trouble with the law.”

Steve smiled at that. “If only all parolees had that attitude, it’d make my job easier.” Steve stood, shoving the now-empty box back in his bag, and shouldering the backpack. “So, **now** we’re done. I’m gonna head out now, but you should know that I’ll be popping in randomly later this week to check in on you.”

Mark nodded, then glanced at the clock. _Crap, 9 pm already,_ he thought. _And I’m starving!_ “Hey, before you go, would you be cool with doing a quick food run for me? I’ve got nothing in the fridge.”

Steve shrugged. “Not a problem. What do you need?”

Mark’s expression filled with longing, and opened his wallet to take out a twenty, grateful that the government had handed over access to his bank accounts so that he could have money on him now. “I haven’t had Takis in **years**. I’m dying for ‘em. Oh, and if you could get me some pizza, that’d be great, too.”

Steve chuckled at that, and took the twenty. “I’ll see what I can do, Mark. I’ll be back in about fifteen minutes or so.”

* * *

Steve returned, as promised, with a box containing a 12 inch plain pizza, and a plastic shopping bag filled with snack-sizes of several flavours of Takis… including the Fuego variety Mark enjoyed so much.

“Huh. I forgot 7-Eleven does pizza now,” Mark mused. “I’m really out of touch, aren’t I?”

“I also took the liberty of getting you some cans of sweet tea, too,” Steve said. “Hope that’s okay?”

Mark flipped open the pizza box and began to tear into a slice with relish, and gave a little moan of pleasure at the taste. “Compared to prison food? This is ambrosia!” He grinned. “Thanks, Steve.”

“No problem, Mark. Like I said earlier, I’ll be checking up on you sometime later this week. Just to see how you’re adjusting. Later, man.”

Mark nodded. “See ya ‘round, then.” He waved. “Buh-bye!”

* * *

Stomach full and feeling sleepy, Mark relaxed in his bed, reveling in the softness of the mattress and the scent of freshly changed sheets. He didn’t have to worry about springs poking at soft spots, or hitting a metal pole if he moved too much during the night. Or waking up his cellmate on the bunk above. Or the jeering commentary of the inmates who stayed up late…

It was quiet and peaceful. In spite of this, sleep eluded him. So he lay back with his hands propped under his head, staring up at the ceiling.

It was such a quiet sound, that at first he thought he **had** fallen asleep after all, and was dreaming it. But, as the thumping slowly rose in volume, Mark realized it wasn’t his imagination.

There was something moving around in his bedroom vent. He shot up to a sitting position, and silently stared at the vent, as if hoping to will it away.

The vent cover flew out from the wall, and Mark yelped in startlement. A tiny animatronic fox popped its furry little head out. Mark, now recognizing the intruder, bellowed, _**“GODDAMMIT, FOXY! YOU JUST TOOK TEN YEARS OFF MY LIFE WITH THAT STUNT!”**_

Foxy crawled out of the vent, giving an apologetic, “Yarrr...”

Mark sighed. “Nate was right. You really can’t resist popping out of something, can you?”

Foxy became visibly agitated at the mention of Nate. But, as the canid robot was unable to speak in anything more than a series of garbled pirate noises, Mark was left utterly mystified.

“Tell me the others are here to translate...” Mark began, then winced when he heard something fragile audibly crash to the floor in his living room. “Yup, that must be Bonnie.”

He threw open his bedroom door. “Well, come on in then, kiddies.” If his tone was a touch sardonic, the animatronics were oblivious. Though very much alive in spite of their gears and wiring, they were still simple creatures that didn’t completely understand adult human behaviour; they had been designed to entertain small children, who tended to be much more straightforward in their methods and speech.

 _At least I know for a fact now that they’re not actually dangerous,_ Mark thought. A small part of him still felt guilty at having mistaken them for killers those first two nights he’d worked at Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza. He realized now that they were too small, cute and mentally innocent to be anything other than friendly. But it was that initial mistake that had led him to the accidental shooting of the janitor and, ultimately, the ten years of jailtime that followed. He wouldn’t be so quick to make assumptions again.

Freddy, Chica and Bonnie trailed into his room, Bonnie looking rather embarrassed. “Sorry about the vase,” the rabbit muttered.

Chica was visibly trembling. Mark instantly felt pity for the poor little thing. “What’s the matter, duckie?” Mark's tone became softer, almost loving.

Chica burst into tears and threw her tiny wing-like arms around his leg. He gently pried her off his leg and then lifted her into his arms, and she wept her odd waterless tears against his broad shoulder. He gently stroked her soft back, vaguely wondering if she could feel the sense of comfort he was attempting to give her.

Apparently Freddy couldn’t stand the relative silence anymore. “Nate is gone!” the bear wailed.

Mark was puzzled by this, verging on alarmed from the robots’ behaviour. “Gone? What do you mean, **gone**?”

“He’s been working at Circus Baby’s Rentals and Entertainment since you went to the Big House,” Bonnie said. “But we haven’t heard from him in days!”

“Maybe he’s just a little busy with work...” Mark began, swallowing back his sense of building unease. He needed to stay calm for their sakes; the animatronics panicked as easily as if they were frightened children themselves.

“He always keeps in touch with us,” Chica hiccuped. “He’d never just abandon us!”

Mark gave her a consoling pat. “Tell ya what I’ll do. I’ll find Nate and make sure he’s okay. That way, you won’t have to worry. And, in the meantime, you can stay with me.” He smiled down at his tiny visitors. “It can be like a little sleepover.”

Chica sniffled. “You really mean it?”

“Absolutely, chickadee. Uncle Mark will take care of you guys while Nate’s away.”

The other three cheered and threw themselves at him, deluging him in a plushy embrace. Ten years ago, he had snapped at them not to touch him, but the years of isolation had changed him. The comfort of physical contact now was, as it turned out, something he very much needed too. And talking robots were better than nothing. 

_No wonder the kids loved these guys,_ he thought. _They give the best hugs._

“Well,” Mark then said. “I know you guys are nocturnal, but right now I’m not. I’m going to need a little rest before I get started first thing tomorrow morning.” He gazed down at them thoughtfully. “Why don’t we all get a little nap in, to conserve some energy?”

“Sounds good!” Bonnie enthused, before popping up onto Mark’s bed. “I call this spot!” the rabbit then crowed, sprawling himself along the foot of the bed.

“Foxy and I’ll take this side,” Freddy announced, and the two made themselves comfortable on the untouched half of Mark’s bed.

Chica looked up at Mark hopefully. “Can I cuddle with you?”

“Sure,” he said, and he arranged himself and the animatronic chicken comfortably on his preferred portion of the bed. She immediately burrowed against his side, like a little girl seeking comfort from her daddy after a bad dream.

“I’ll see you guys in a few hours,” he murmured, before allowing himself to drift off.


	3. Night 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so the prologue provided as solid an intro as I could figure, and Night 0 gave a bit of much-needed sweetness with the Fuzzy Four, amid FNAF!Mark’s guilt-ridden angst. Now that Mark’ll be heading into the sister location, shit’s about to get real, real soon. Strap in.

_Day 1_  
_The Armoury Supply Store_

Mark pulled his car into the parking space, and eyed the store with some trepidation. While technically it wasn't illegal for him to be here, it probably wouldn't do him any favours in the long run to be seen at a (fortunately quite legal) weapons dealer. Well, okay, technically it was a hunting supply and army surplus store, but still...

But what had decided him was the distinct impression that Nate was indeed in trouble. He'd contacted the other man's family, and no one had heard from Nate. Nate's mother had sounded especially worried over the phone, and pleaded with Mark that, if he saw Nate, that her son **please** call her.

After that, Mark had immediately gotten in touch with Circus Baby's Rentals and Entertainment (which, he had quickly figured out was a sister company to Freddy Fazbear's Pizza, both united under Fazbear Entertainment), and asked if Nate had been seen lately. No such luck.

But Nate’s disappearance only meant one thing: Mark had to go into the place Nate was last seen, his last known whereabouts, and to follow the trail from there. And that trail started at Circus Baby's. Since apparently they had a new, unexpected opening for employment on the graveyard shift, Mark was quick to offer his services.

Mark had been warned by another ex-con that jobs were hard to find for the likes of them, as nobody seemed to want former felons in their establishments, no matter how well said felon had cleaned up their act (though, the prospective employers never flat-out said so, as that would be in defiance of federal law). Fortunately, the management of Circus Baby’s Rentals didn’t seem to care about Mark’s criminal record. No doubt Steve would be pleased that he’d found “gainful employment” just forty-eight hours out of jail.

But, at the moment, none of that really mattered to Mark. His friend’s whereabouts were the first thing on his mind.

Anything could have happened to Nate, so it was best to be prepared. Given Mark's crime had involved a firearm, his conceal and carry permit that he'd been provided as a security guard had long since been revoked. But that didn't mean he couldn't defend himself, if necessary, through alternate means.

Which had led him here, to The Armoury. He awkwardly ran a hand through his hair—it desperately needed to be cut—and, after an internal argument with himself, finally got out of his vehicle and headed for the establishment’s front door.

A tiny blonde greeted him with a cheery smile from her position at the counter. "Welcome to The Armoury! I'm Amy. Do you need assistance?"

"Actually, yeah. I'm looking for several different kinds of weaponry. Is there anything you'd recommend?"

"Self-defense, hunting, or for display?"

"Both," Mark initially replied, before mentally dope-slapping himself at the realization she'd mentioned three possibilities and not two. "Uh, hunting and self-defense, I mean."

Amy nodded. “We have a fine assortment of handguns and rifles...” she began.

“No guns!” he cried, startling her. He took a breath and, swallowing back against his heart having leaped into his throat at the suggestion alone, added with a calm he didn’t feel, “I’m not so good with guns.”

She seemed to take his outburst in stride, considering for a moment. “Have you ever used a crossbow? It’s an excellent ranged weapon to have, if you can’t use a gun.”

“Once or twice, yeah,” he replied modestly.

“Would you like to take a look at some of the models we offer?”

Mark shrugged. “Sure.”

He trailed in her wake down to the archery section of the store, and watched as she plucked a rather mean-looking black crossbow from its display area on the wall and showed it to him. “This is a Black Knight brand Cobra crossbow. It can hit your target at up to 265 feet per second, has a draw weight of 175 pounds and a 10.5 powerstroke.” She gestured to the small canister shaped device capping it. “It includes a laser scope, and a mechanism to prevent ‘dry’ firing.” She then offered it to him. “What do you think?”

He took the crossbow in his hands, adjusting his grip on it till he was comfortable. “Nice. It’s a lot lighter than I expected.”

“It comes with a quiver of five titanium-shafted bolts,” she added helpfully.

He nodded. “I’ll take it.” _A girl who’s_ _cute_ _and knows her weapon_ _s_ _? I think I’m in love._

“Is there anything else you’d like?”

 _Your number?_ he thought, sighing inwardly. _Note to self: Must get out more. Your stint in the slammer has done you_ _r social_ _skills_ _no favours._ “I’d like a look at your blades, maybe.”

“We’ve got knives, daggers, swords, polearms...”

He was pretty sure his eyes must’ve damn near popped out of his head at that. “You have **swords**? Actual, functioning swords that aren’t just decoration?”

Amy grinned. “Uh-huh.”

“Cool! I want to see ‘em.”

* * *

In the end, he decided to go with a Japanese _tanto_ and a Viking-style _seax:_ the _seax_ being a straight twelve-inch blade, whereas the _tanto_ was a gently curved ten-inch blade. He added a machete, a set of throwing knives, and a truncheon to the duffel and felt his weapons cache was complete.

The four animatronics were still dozing in his bed and, Mark had to admit, Chica made the most adorable little cooing noises as she slept.

He dressed in his new uniform, feeling odd about taking up the position of a night watchman again. Apparently, though, this one was a little different; in addition to guarding the place, he’d also be doing minor computer work that would help keep the rental animatronics in tip-top condition for use the next day.

The place was much more updated with cutting-edge quality tech than Freddy Fazbear’s was years before. That place had been on the verge of falling apart, much of which was a result of the daily wear and tear the young customers put everything through. But Circus Baby’s was an underground facility, not accessible to the general public, and so was in pretty fair condition.

There was the occasional puddle of WD-40 and oil, and there were wires and sundry to avoid stepping on, but it was still a lot tidier and pleasant to look at than, say, the average auto repair shop.

Though it was a secure enough facility, being underground, they still needed someone there at night to thwart any potential break-ins, as the new animatronics were easily worth millions with the quality of their tech. As well as the aforementioned minor computer work.

He was by no means a computer technician or an engineer, but he knew enough to keep his own home computer running. There would be an A.I. assisting him at Circus Baby’s, providing him with instructions as needed on the technical side of things. He was promised by the management, however, that they wouldn’t be terribly complicated tasks and were easily accomplished by almost anyone.

Bonnie was the first to rise, and the other three immediately perked up in turns. “Hello, Mark!” they chorused.

He smiled at the soft, childlike voices saying his name. “Hey, guys. I’m heading out to Circus Baby’s. I want you for to stay here, and keep out of trouble. Okay?” He then turned to Bonnie, wagging a finger in mild scolding. “And don’t break anything else, Bonnie.”

The four all nodded in agreement. “We’ll play quiet games,” Chica chirruped.

“Sounds like a good idea. I’ll see you guys after my shift.”

“Yah-harr,” Foxy agreed, nodding again more emphatically.

“Be good, guys.” Then Mark slipped out the front door, locking it behind him so his tiny guests would be safe inside.

* * *

_Night 1_  
_Circus Baby’s Rentals and Entertainment_

Mark slipped his keycard through the card reader, and the door immediately opened to him, clicking softly shut behind him as it locked.

The initial setup in the front room was familiar: In a manner that other businesses would seat a welcoming concierge, there was a bank of closed-circuit video feeds at a security desk, an employees-only double-doored elevator, and two main doors that could only be operated from the desk or via keycard.

This would be his desk now.

He set his duffel down on the seat, opening it and taking out the truncheon and joining it to a loop on his belt, then tucking a throwing knife in his jacket’s inner pocket. He vaguely hoped the other weapons would not be necessary, and he carefully tucked the still-packed duffel in a lockable drawer under his desk.

After that, he tucked the A.I. feed – which resembled a Bluetooth – against his left ear, the clip fitting rather comfortably against the flesh of his ear. He gave it a little tap to activate the feed, and the A.I. stated in a pleasant tone, “ **Welcome to the first day of your exciting new career. I will be your personal guide to help you get started.** **I am a model five of the Handyman’s Robotics and Unit Repair System, but you can call me HandUnit.** ”

 _HandUnit?_ Mark wondered. It seemed a rather odd name for something that was not intended to be handheld, but was broadcasting to an item worn at the ear instead.

“ **Please enter the elevator and select floor 5B, so we may get started.** ”

“Sure thing,” Mark muttered, slipping his keycard through the reader next to the elevator doors. It dinged cheerily and slid open, and he leaned back against the provided railing as the doors closed and his descent began.

When the elevator settled at the bottom, HandUnit then offered, “ **You can now open the elevator using that bright, red and obvious button. Let’s get to work.** ”

The doors slid open once again, giving him an eyeful of caution tape shouting “DANGER” and an open vent. There was quite literally nowhere else to go, and no other way around.

“Why is it all ‘danger’?” he wondered aloud. “I don’t wanna crawl down there.” Knowing there was literally nothing else, however, he then sighed. “Okay, let’s crawl down there, then.”

When he finally came out of the vent, into a closet-sized utilitarian room with large windows on either side and each with a pair of buttons next to them and a closed vent underneath. HandUnit explained, “ **You are now in the primary control module. It’s actually a crawlspace between the two front simulation rooms.** ”

 _Yeah, I’m not liking this,_ Mark thought. _It’s poorly-lit and kinda creepy in here._

“ **Let’s get started with your daily tasks. The window to your left is the Ballora Gallery, a simulation party room and dance studio. Let’s turn on the light and see if Ballora’s on her stage, by pressing the blue button on the keypad next to the window.** ”

Mark immediately pressed the button, only to be greeted with an empty room. “Oh. Huh. Where’s Ballora?” He also wondered, in the back of his mind, if she and the other animatronics were like Freddy and his friends, becoming more active at night.

If they did... then they weren’t just programs and wiring. They might be alive too.

“ **It looks like Ballora doesn’t feel like dancing. Let’s give her some motivation by pressing the red button on the keypad. This will administer a controlled shock.** **Maybe that will put the spring back in her step.** ”

“WHAT?!” Mark yelped, jumping away from the keypad as if it had shocked him instead. “Why am I gonna make them mad? Why do I want Dancy-Pants to be mad at me?!”

Wrinkling his nose in disgust, he reluctantly pushed the button. There was a flash not unlike a lightning strike, and Mark nearly whimpered at it. “Oh, jeez...”

“ **Let’s check the light again.** ”

Mark hit the button for the light, and saw the ballerina animatronic pirouetting on her stage to a tinkling music-box song, accompanied by several tiny companion robots.

“ **Excellent. It seems like Ballora’s feeling like her old self again, and will be ready to perform again tomorrow,** ” HandUnit said. “ **Now view the window to your right. This is the Funtime Auditorium, a simulation** **of a** **children’s game room. Let’s turn on the light and see what Funtime Foxy’s up to.** ”

Mark turned on that light and wasn’t terribly surprised to discover Funtime Foxy wasn’t there either.

“ **Looks like Funtime Foxy’s taking the day off. Let’s motivate her with a controlled shock.** ”

 _Nothing like a little electro-motivation to get the day started,_ Mark thought sarcastically. He hesitated minutely before pressing the button. _Or,_ he tried to convince himself, _maybe they like it..._

When he turned on the light again, Funtime Foxy still wasn’t there.

“ **Let’s try another controlled shock.** ”

“How about we don’t?” Mark countered. “How about we just give her a cupcake, and we all go on with our day?”

Against his better judgment, he hit the button again, then turned on the light. A human-sized animatronic fox was now on the auditorium stage.

“ **Looks like Funtime Foxy’s in perfect working order. Great job!** ”

 _Joy._ Mark’s internal dialogue was, if anything, even more sour than when he spoke aloud. Giving electroshock therapy to possibly-alive animatronics was definitely not his idea of a good time.

“ **In front of you is another** **open** **vent shaft. Crawl through it to reach the Circus Gallery control module.** ”

“I don’t want to!” Mark lamented aloud, even though he knew the A.I. wouldn’t respond. “Why are you making me crawl?!” He sighed again and, with nothing for it, got down on his hands and knees and shimmied through the vent.

The space eventually opened up to another closet-sized room, this one with a large window directly in front of him. It was, if anything, even more dimly lit than the other module, and looking out into a dark and smoky expanse of a room.

“ **On the other side of the glass is Circus Baby’s Auditorium. Let’s check the lights and see what Baby is up to.** ”

“Sure,” Mark drawled. “Why the hell not?” He toggled the light switch, but could barely see a thing.

“ **Looks like a few of the lights are out, but we can fix that later. Let’s encourage Baby to cheer up with a controlled shock.** ”

Mark winced. _Something tells me angering Baby might be the worst decision..._

He toggled the shock button and then hit the light. When Baby didn’t show, HandUnit suggested, “ **Let’s try another controlled shock.** ”

He hit the shock button followed by the light. No dice. Baby was still a no-show.

“ **Let’s try another controlled shock,** ” HandUnit repeated.

“Why can’t _**you**_ do this?” Mark wondered aloud. But he hit the shock button, then the light again.

He still couldn’t see Baby through the glass.

“ **Great job, Circus Baby. We knew we could count on you.**

**This concludes your services for this level. Please leave by the vent behind you, and return to the security kiosk.”**

Mark spluttered in confusion at HandUnit’s declaration. “But I didn’t see Baby!” He hit the light again. “I don’t see her. Where is she?” He sighed yet again, then added, “Fine. I’m just gonna pretend this part of my day didn’t happen.”

As he went through the vent, he heard something banging against the outside of it, as if they were trying to tear it open. Frightened by the unnatural stillness being broken by such a commotion, he scampered on all fours as quickly as he could, till he got back to the elevator.

When the elevator doors closed behind him, and the box rose back up to the main floor, he exhaled in relief. Something was definitely very wrong here in this facility, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He’d check through the video feeds to see if he could still view the other rooms he hadn’t yet accessed. If anything seemed the least bit odd in one of the other rooms, he’d check it out.

Regardless of his nerves, Nate’s continued health and safety likely depended on him getting a clear idea of the building’s layout. If he’d actually angered a living animatronic, he’d have to deal with that when the moment came.

Finding Nate was the most important part of being here, regardless of anything else.

When he was back at his desk, he realized the two main doors had opened. He was the only one in the building at this point, so that immediately set alarm bells off in his head; they’d been closed when he made his descent into floor 5B.

He shined his flashlight in the doorways, not seeing anything immediately untoward. Turning back to the video feed, he examined each camera view and kept track of the power and oxygen usage on each respective floor. There was a ton of information on the bank of screens and at his fingertips, and he was overwhelmed at first, but quickly settled into a rhythm.

This wasn’t his first rodeo, after all.

It was quiet at first but, by midnight, things started getting weird at Circus Baby’s. When the oxygen levels dipped, he discovered Ballora’s tiny stage companions – _minireenas_ , they were called? – messing with the air recycling machine. He hit what he now recognized on his desk as a remote button for a controlled shock, and the minireenas quickly dispersed.

Hey, if they were gonna waste his oxygen, they deserved it.

Okay, so these weren’t the nice animatronics like Freddy, Bonnie, Foxy and Chica. He briefly smiled at the thought of those four in his home, their lively natures giving warmth to otherwise silent halls and empty rooms. Though he’d never admit it, he had certainly felt less lonely with their company.

Though he did allow himself to hope that they’d give him a pile of plushy hugs when he returned home. But that would be later. Right now, he had to do both the job he was hired for and do some detective work.

He kept flipping through camera views, memorizing the layout and location of each room, and watching for unusual activity.

At one a.m. he heard Ballora’s tinkly music getting near the door to his right, and he hit the control to shut the door. He didn’t know what personality she might possess, but he was fairly certain she was not happy with him for the shock treatment.

He’d deal with the fallout from that, later.

At one-thirty, Ballora wandered near the left-hand door, which he immediately slammed shut.

At two o’clock, he heard a raspy yet high-pitched cackle that glitched occasionally. “Hello, a-again! You r-ready for round two?”

Mark sat still in stunned silence for a moment. That was not a nice voice; that was the voice of someone or something that clearly did not have the best of intentions for him. That someone or something _**had**_ to be a total douchebag.

“Bon-Bon, let’s not keep our friend wa-waiting!”

Mark winced. _Oh, crap. This was not good._

“Ready or n-not, h-here I come!” was heard near the left door, and Mark immediately slammed it shut.

“G-get ready for a surpriiiise!” the animatronic he couldn’t yet identify sang. “Oh, birthday booooy!”

Quickly realizing that meant the robot would probably do the opposite of what he had done before, Mark quickly slammed the other door shut... just in time to hear something solid _**thunk**_ against the metal door. When all was quiet, he opened the doors again because he had realized simply holding the doors shut was beginning to drain power.

“Bon-Bon, go g-get ‘im!”

 _Shit_ _!_ Mark again slammed the door he heard that coming from. Something once again _**thunked**_ against the closed door.

“Knock, knock! Is a-anybody home?”

Mark stayed silent, but slammed the other door shut. An oddly polite knock was heard on the other side of the door.

At three o’clock, the animatronics that had been trying to get at him so far finally gave up.

At four a.m., a small (yet larger than the four waiting for him at home) pink animatronic bunny suddenly streaked past his desk with a chittering giggle. He swatted her on the nose with his truncheon, then chased her out the left-side door. He slammed it shut immediately behind her.

_Auuuugh! I’m in a living hell!_

At five a.m. he saw Funtime Foxy leering at him through the camera. Realizing she was heading for the left door, he slammed it shut. Another solid knocking followed, but then she went quiet.

At six a.m., he was relieved to discover these particular animatronics promptly powered down for the morning shift. He took some deep cleansing breaths that helped release his tension a little, put his weapons back in his duffel and headed for home.

Let the day security deal with any of the resulting headaches. Mark desperately needed some cuddles and sleep.


End file.
